The man rolled over on his bed and stared at the ceiling. One of his feet poked out from under the dirty covers. He wiped the perspiration on his forehead with the back of his hand and let it fall on his side. The room was quiet except for the sound of traffic from down below and the hypnotising sound from his own slow and heavy breathing. The room would have been completely dark if not for the thin slice of light that seeped into it from the small gap in the closed shades.
His thoughts wandered from one thing to another but now he asked himself what time it was. He could hear the traffic. It was not too loud. The room was warm and there was light outside.
It’s noon. He thought to himself.
He felt hungry. He turned his head over to his left and looked at the bedside table. The leftover food from yesterday night, or was it from the night before, was waiting for him there. Two flies, unbothered, were indulging on a piece of bread. The man raised an arm which was dangling from the side of his bed, shooed away the flies, picked up the piece of bread, and put it into his mouth. The taste was off but he didn’t mind. Once satisfied, he threw away what was left onto the floor and resumed staring at the ceiling. Breadcrumbs lined the sides of his mouth.
He stared at the dust-covered ceiling fan. His eyes were used to the dark by now.
When was the last time I cleaned this room? He thought.
Who cares. He replied to himself.
His thoughts wandered back to the ceiling fan. He imagined how the fan would look like with a rope tied on it. He imagined one end of the rope dangling down, waiting for him. No, not waiting, but calling for him. He reached out his hand towards the imaginary rope. He was just about to grab onto it when his phone pinged.
He turned to his right, stared at the dark silhouette of his phone lying on the bed for some time, and picked it up and unlocked it.
The light blinded him for a few seconds.
‘Hi.’ The message read. He didn’t care who it was from.
‘Hi.’ He typed. His finger hovered for a fraction of a second over the send button and then pressed down on it.
‘Had lunch?’. The reply came almost instantaneously.
It is noon. He thought.
‘Yes’. He replied thinking of the leftover piece of bread lying on the floor. The flies must be back on it by now.
‘Cool. We are planning to go out tonight. Wanna join?.’
He stared at the screen for some time. He could go out and maybe get out of this madness somehow. He could jump out of this bed, maybe take a bath, put on some fresh clothes, and go out into the sun. But the bed held onto him tight and the darkness embraced him.
He typed ‘no’, hit send, threw the phone to his side, and stared at the ceiling fan. The rope was back. And it was calling.
